“Tell me a story,” she said to the wind as it swept around her, the blue-white sun and the late winter afternoon drawing them all together in its steely embrace.
She had taken this journey to the heart of nowhere, scattering the sounds of everyday life on her way as a breadcrumb trail to maybe lead her back to the known. Now, with the sun slowly fading, it was just her and the wind with its mumbled whispers that seemed to grow clearer as her heart and head slowly ceased their chatter.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said to herself, reproachingly. “If you want a story you are going to have to tell it yourself.” She could feel the sound and fury she had sought to escape stirring inside her as she grasped at memories and moments, trying to turn them into a plot she could follow.
Running it’s fingers through dry leaves of autumns past, the wind hushed her raging heart and once again she strained to hear the words behind the whisper, “Be still and know…Everyday of your life was written in my book before one came to pass.”
“Tell me your story, our story,” she said to the wind as its words grew clearer weaving life and light in, and around, her. She closed her eyes, basked in the glow of a quieted soul and found herself home in this beautiful unknown.